


Musings

by Braincoins



Series: Shallura Holiday Month 2017 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, SHM2017, Shallura Holiday Month, Shalluramas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braincoins/pseuds/Braincoins
Summary: Collection of thoughts on the various prompts as they relate (or could relate) to Shallura. Kicking off with the "Champion" prompt. Not really a proper fic, but I wanted to be able to do SOMETHING.





	1. Champion

**Author's Note:**

> Collection of thoughts on the various prompts as they relate (or could relate) to Shallura. Kicking off with the "Champion" prompt. Not really a proper fic, but I wanted to be able to do SOMETHING.

            Shiro hated being called “Champion.”

            He understood why they did it. He understood that it was meant as a compliment, as a form of respectful address. He even understood that it had shifted from its original meaning into something else.

            Once, he had been the Champion of the Galra Arena, a performer whose medium was violence and blood. He had been a marketing tool, a solid draw to the gladiatorial combat that entertained Zarkon and the Empire’s masses. He had been little more than an assassin, paid in the adulation of the crowd and his continued existence.

            Now, he was a Champion to the entire universe as part of Voltron. He brought hope instead of mindless, bloody entertainment. He ensured _their_ existence, not his own. He was welcomed and cheered because he protected life instead of taking it, and that was a definite step up.

            But he tired of being a symbol. He tired of being a walking piece of propaganda, no matter what side it was for. He wanted to recoil every time someone looked up at him and breathlessly declared, “You’re the _Champion_.”

            But then there was Allura.

            Allura loved him regardless of his status. She loved _him_ , saw _him_ , not some blood-splattered Champion. She neither adored nor feared the Champion; she loved and trusted the man. He didn’t have to be strong when he was with her, didn’t have to put on a show, didn’t have to be anything but himself.


	2. Winter

            Shiro likes winter because he has an excuse to cover up, disappearing into gloves and sweaters and bulky coats. He looks much like everyone else, and no one stares. He’s another half-covered face in the crowd. No one can see his white hair under his hat, his scar beneath his scarf pulled up over his nose and mouth. His right hand is hidden in a pair of gloves.

            He’s not the Black Paladin of Voltron. He’s not the former Champion of the Galra Arena. He’s not someone to be pitied or lionized. He’s neither hero nor freak. He’s just someone else, another normal human. He doesn’t stand out.

            Allura understands. She doesn’t see him as a freak, but she still stares sometimes. She can’t help it, and she blushes whenever she’s caught at it. She likes how he looks in turtlenecks and jeans (and she tells him so). He’s not just another human to her, he’s the man she loves. Even when he’s bundled up, she always knows it’s him. She would know his presence with her eyes closed, even in the midst of a crowd of humans.

            Shiro doesn’t have to hide from her, and couldn’t even if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. And he tells her that he’d know her under her winter clothes, too, even if he couldn’t see her markings or her ears. “There’s an… aura about you,” he says, his eyes soft with awe. She never knows what to say to that.

            She doesn’t have to say anything, and neither does he. They can walk next to each other, gloved hands shoved into coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the biting winter winds, but their souls are hand-in-hand, enjoying the sunshine of each other’s love.


	3. I Know How You Feel

            She’d never know exactly how he felt because she’d never been forced to fight for the amusement of bloodthirsty crowds. She’d never been reduced to a weapon or a spectacle. She’d never been entirely unaware of where she even was, never had to fight as one quintant faded into another and another until reality itself became unreal.

            She had her memories, still, even if she didn’t want them, and she envied him the amnesia. She knew that was horrible, but sometimes it was still true. Sometimes she wished she could forget her father’s laughter, her mother’s smile, the Blossom Canyon a-riot with juniberries on a sunlit morn. She wished she didn’t have to remember exactly what she’d lost, because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt her anymore. Maybe the blade would come out of her chest.

            But then she’d probably bleed to death.

 

 

            He’d never know exactly how she felt because he’d never been expected to lead an entire people, an entire planet. He hadn’t slept for millennia only to awaken to a fundamentally-altered universe. He’d never had to see where Earth _had been_ on a star map; as far away as it was, it was still there. He’d never had to choose between his last link to his family and his duty to the universe.

            He had lost part of himself to the Arena, to the amnesia, to the nightmares. Was it better to have that sure sense of self she still possessed, if it came at the cost she seemed to have paid? It was horrible to even wonder about, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t like feeling like part of himself was locked away. He didn’t like feeling incomplete. There was a hole in him, an emptiness that he couldn’t see into no matter how hard he stared. To be honest, sometimes he didn’t even try.

            Maybe it was better not to know what lurked in that darkness within him.

 

 

            But she did know what it was like to be without a home. She knew what it was to be captured by the Galra. She knew what it was to need a purpose to drive you, to keep you on track. After all, what would she do without this? What would she be when they were on the other side of victory? A princess of no people. All she could hope was that a new role would reveal itself to her before then.

 

            But he did know what it was like to want revenge. He knew what it was to hate Zarkon and the Galra Empire. He knew what it was to need a purpose to drive you, to keep you on track. After all, what would he do without this? What would he be when they were on the other side of victory? A soldier with no war. All he could hope was that a new role would reveal itself to him before then.

 

 

            She’d lost a lot. But she’d gained quite a bit. New friends, a new purpose (for now), a new family, of sorts. New abilities, even (though she still wasn’t quite sure how she felt about those). It wasn’t all bad.

            She thought of Shiro, and the rare times he smiled. She thought of what a support he had been to her in some of her weakest moments. All of her new friends were dear to her, but it was Shiro who made her feel less alone. He was the one who most made her feel as if they had a chance to really complete this impossible task she’d set for them. When she doubted herself, his confidence in her restored her own. He gave her hope.

 

            He’d lost a lot. But he’d gained quite a bit. New friends, a new purpose (for now), a new family, of sorts. New abilities, even (whether he liked them or not). It wasn’t all bad.

            He thought of Allura, and the rare times she laughed. He thought of how clear-eyed and focused she was, able to guide them all when he sometimes hadn’t a clue what to do or where to go. He couldn’t do any of this without the whole team, but it was Allura who made him feel less alone. She was the one who made this seemingly-impossible task seem… well, possible. When he didn’t know what to do, she showed him the way. She gave him hope.

 

 

            She didn’t know what the future would hold. She couldn’t begin to guess. She knew that she would strive every quintant to overthrow the Galra Empire and free those held in Zarkon’s iron grip. She didn’t know if she’d succeed. But if they failed, it wouldn’t be for lack of effort.

            And she hoped that, no matter what else she had lost before now, she would never lose Shiro. She hoped that, whatever happened at the end, he would be with her. Because then, no matter what awaited her, she knew she’d be able to face it. With him.

 

 

            He didn’t know what lay in store for him. He couldn’t begin to guess. He knew they’d all try their hardest to dethrone Zarkon and free everyone he’d enslaved and oppressed for all these years. He didn’t know if they’d succeed. But if they didn’t, well, at least they’d done _something._

            And he hoped that, no matter what else he’d lost before now, he would never lose Allura. He hoped that, however things turned out, she would be with him. Because then, no matter how it ended, he knew he’d be able to face it. With her.


	4. Past, Present, Future

            Parts of Shiro’s past are gone. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Mostly it’s a good thing; he’s not sure if he wants those memories. But it still bothers him, because it’s not the gentle erosion of time that has taken those memories: they were ripped away from him, stolen like his right hand, like a year of his freedom. He _should_ still remember those things, and he can’t. There’s a void in his mind, and he doesn’t want to look too deeply into it. He’s a little afraid to, honestly.

            He doesn’t know what the future will bring. Will he even be alive ten years from now? Five? Next year? Next month? If he does survive, what prices will he have to pay for his continued existence? Will he be a triumphant hero or will he be back in the clutches of those who would have taken everything from him had he not gotten away?

            When he was a prisoner, all he had was Now, this moment, and how to survive it. His only future was escape or death, and he couldn’t plan farther than that. He did what he could, but ultimately, it was out of his hands.

            In some ways, he’s still a prisoner. He’s free and he’s fighting back, but he’s still caught up in the Now of things. He doesn’t dare hope for a future, doesn’t dare dream of what he wants. He’s focused on the war, on victory, on fighting until his last breath because it’s the right thing to do, because he wants justice, because the dark void in him wants vengeance, because he has to. Duty and Revenge and Righteousness and Freeing the Oppressed.

            He fights for Keith and Pidge and Hunk and Lance. He fights for lost Altea.

            He fights for Her.

            He’s afraid to look ahead, because in the still, dark vargas of the Castle’s night cycle, he watches her sleep and fears losing her. He wants a future with her, the two of them together, maybe a family. He never wants to be without her, and he’s afraid. The Galra have taken so much from him already, and they could take this, too. Not just her but the warmth and joy and security he feels with her. He’s risking so much more now.

            So he doesn’t look at the future. He keeps his mind on the present, on the way she says “Good morning,” on quick kisses to his temple, the way she squeezes his hand, the look in her eyes when she smiles at him. He focuses on the feel of her in his arms, so warm and soft and vibrantly alive with love as his name echoes off her bedroom walls. He compartmentalizes, going from battle-planning to love-making, from training with the team to laughing with them over dinner, from system to system and back again. This task, that mission, and returning to her at the end of them all.

            He’s angry about his stolen past, and afraid of a possibly stolen future. All he has is the present, and he will make the most of it.


	5. In-Between

            In the in-between times of the day, when the lights are dim and the noise level low, they need each other the most.

            For Allura, it’s mornings. Sometimes, when she’s just awoken, she forgets. She expects to see her father, to see Altea and her people. And then she remembers, and it’s like losing them all over again. It jolts her back into the harsh reality of her life; it spins her adrenaline up and pulls tears to her eyes.

            That’s when she needs Shiro to anchor her, to remind her that she is not fighting alone. He hugs her and calms her and steadies her so she can face her daytime duties.

            For Shiro, it’s evenings. His own dreams are enemies more treacherous than the Galra Empire. He hates admitting that he’s afraid to go to sleep some nights, afraid of screaming and bolting upright, skin sweating, heart pounding, unsure of where he is and if he’s safe, the lingering fog of his nightmares still enshrouding his brain.

            That’s when he needs Allura to anchor him, to remind him that he is not fighting alone. She hugs him and calms him and steadies him so he can face his nightly demons.

            They’re strong enough that they could do these things without each other, if they had to. They did for a long time. But it’s better this way. Better to fall asleep and wake up with each other, to have one another for guidance and support. It makes each quintant more bearable, helps them face the nigh-impossible task they have set themselves to, and gives them hope that they can actually achieve it.


End file.
